The capital had not recovered.
Even as the sun rose over the towering spires of the palace, the air carried a heavy weight. The once-bustling streets now moved sluggishly, shadows lingering behind every turn. The aftermath of the plague still gripped the city, and though the worst had passed, its scars remained.
Inside the royal palace, King Aldric sat at the head of a long, polished table, listening to his advisors argue. The topic was the same as always—the kingdom's dwindling stability.
"The people demand relief, Your Majesty," one noble declared, frustration evident in his tone. "Merchants refuse to trade, commoners hoard supplies, and bandits grow bolder by the day. If we do not act, the kingdom will collapse from within before any external threat can reach us."
"The treasury is already stretched thin from handling the plague," another retorted. "And yet, some of us believe this is the perfect time to discuss power." His gaze flickered toward Duke Marcian, who sat at the far end of the table, silent but unmistakably present.
The room tensed. The noble factions had always sought control over the throne, but their ambitions had grown bolder. Even now, with the kingdom weakened, they continued their games.
King Aldric's expression darkened. "Enough." His voice carried a quiet authority, silencing the room. "This is not the time for political maneuvering."
Silence stretched for a moment before an advisor cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, there have been reports from the eastern border. Unusual activity—troop movements that do not align with routine patrols."
The king's gaze sharpened. "Are we certain?"
"There is no confirmation yet. But given the state of the kingdom, we cannot afford to ignore it."
Aldric exhaled sharply. The disease had ravaged their lands, leaving them vulnerable. If the enemy sensed weakness…
"Quietly increase border defenses," he ordered. "We must be prepared, but we cannot afford to make the first move."
His advisors nodded, though uncertainty remained in their eyes.
Across the city, hidden within the veiled corners of an unmarked inn, Kale watched the capital carefully.
He leaned against the windowsill of his rented room, eyes scanning the streets below. The plague had stripped the city of its usual vibrance, but beneath the surface, a different tension was brewing.
Rumors spread in whispers. Merchants complained about disrupted supply lines. Soldiers moved through the streets more frequently, their patrols tighter than usual. Some streets had become eerily quiet, as if the people knew something but dared not speak of it.
Kale had spent the last few days gathering information. At first, he assumed it was just the aftermath of the disease, but there were signs—subtle shifts in movement, patterns that felt unnatural. Reports of nobles strengthening their private forces, of secret meetings held behind closed doors.
And now, military movements at the border.
His fingers tapped idly against the wooden frame. The kingdom was still weak, its defenses fragile. If an external force was preparing to strike, this would be the perfect time.
He hadn't planned to interfere. Not yet. But if war was coming…
He would need to be ready.
For now, he would continue watching.